100.00
A perfect. Fucking. Score.
I press my lips together, trying and failing to hold back my smug grin. But why should I hide it anyway? I earned every point. I deserve to celebrate.
Throwing my arms in the air, I scream to the sky.
“I FUCKING DID IT!”
Red, white and blue flags fly, someone pours a freezing cold bottle of Gatorade on my head—thank god my helmet is still on—and twenty microphones are shoved in my face all at once. I can barely decipher the questions being thrown at me, and I don’t care to try to figure them out. I’ll be a good girl andgive the reporters the answers they want in the official presser later today. But for now, I’ve just got one thing to get off my chest.
“I just want to say thank you to my husband, Ryder, for pushing me to be the best version of myself every day. You make me a better, stronger, kinder person, and I love you so much, baby. Oh, and I’m officially the master of your signature move. Suck on that, Rye Bread.”
I shoulder my way through the wall of reporters, determined to find Ryder so I can say those same things to his face. It’s not easy to run in my boots, but I’m determined to make it to him quickly, even if I fall on my ass ten times on the way.
“Mabel!” My name rings out over the crowd, and then I see him. My gorgeous, kind, incredible husband, still in his uniform and running towards me. I speed up, and when I’m close enough, I jump into Ryder’s outstretched arms.
“I love you, Ryder. I love you, I love you, I love you.” I chant between kisses on his cheeks, his lips, his forehead, his jaw. Anywhere I can get my lips on is good enough for me. “I should have told you before, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the stupid article and stupid Kitty and Lola and I’m sorry that Trina is going to kill us and bury our bodies in the Nevada desert.”
“Fuck, Mabel,” Ryder groans as I continue to attack his mouth. “Slow down. You just got a perfect score. A perfect fucking score on the halfpipe! You just crushed like, five world records. I didn’t get to see the height but you might’ve even crushed the record I just set ten minutes ago with my own move. Are you kidding me? I’m so fucking proud of you, baby girl. So proud. I love you so fucking much.”
I bite down on his bottom lip, tugging it with my teeth before soothing over it with my tongue.
“You really love me, Rye Bread?” I coo, and he rolls his eyes.
“Of course I do, Marshmallow. I’ve loved you since I was seventeen. Do you really love me?”
Ryder’s green eyes sparkle against the reflection of the snow, full of hope and anticipation, and everything inside of me finally feels…right.
“I really, really do. It’s always been you, Ryder.”
He smirks, running his tongue over his teeth.
“No fall zone, my ass.”
This time Ryder kisses me, the force of his lips on mine so great that the intensity takes us both to the ground. He licks at my lips and I part them, letting his tongue tangle with mine. The air is cold but his skin is hot, his beard scraping at the delicate skin of my face in a way that makes my cunt ache. It isn’t until I sink my fingers into his hair and Ryder moansinto my mouth that I remember we’re on our knees in front of the press and half the attendees of the Winter Games.
I pull back, and Ryder grins as he rubs the tip of his nose against mine.
“Well, if that doesn’t prove to the world that we’re actually happily married, I don’t know what will,” he laughs, and then, more seriously, “Do you think Trina is really going to murder us?”
“Yeah, Rye. I really, really do.”
We’re surrounded by reporters, all yelling out questions that I am more than happy to ignore. Someone shoves a microphone between our faces, asking something in Italian that I don’t understand. But Ryder does.
“Yeah, I do have something I’d like to say about the article,” he says in English, not taking his eyes off mine. “A month ago in Las Vegas, I married the love of my life. That is the truth, and that’s the last thing I’m going to say about it. And the next person who decides to write something shitty aboutmy wifebetter watch out, cause I’m going to start whooping asses. No one gets to piss off Mabel but me.”
30
LEAVE THEM ON
MABEL
As luck would have it, Ryder and I both survived the wrath of Trina. Sure, she yelled at us a bit for ruining her perfect plan of keeping the ‘accidental’ part of our marriage a secret. Threatened us with bodily harm if we ever did something stupid in front of a camera again. The representatives of the IGC weren’t too pleased with us, either. We were given a stern talking-to before the medal ceremony, and there were vague threats strewn about. But at the end of the day, there was nothing worth punishing us for. It’s not like we got caught doping or fabricating a fake robbery attempt for clout. In fact, it turns out that a husband and wife duo both winning goals in the same event and nailing the same move was a bigenough story that Sarah Hannigan’s hit-piece barely made a ripple. My perfect score was the highlight of the day. Ryder and I both got to stand on the center podium and receive our gold medals, and we get to go home as equals.
But still, I can’t help but tease him just a little bit on the way back to our room that night.
“Ugh, Rye Bread. You’re so lucky that two of your medals are silver. These three gold medals are just so heavy. I’m going to need an extra hour on the massage table tomorrow to recover from lugging all this gold around all day.”
